Running on Sex and Laughing
by gldnwrtr
Summary: Scenes seen and implied from The Bodies in the Book. AngelaHodgins romance from Angela's POV. For mature readers only, please.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: These characters are the property of FOX--but they have escaped to have a little fun with me.**

**Summary: Elaborated and missing scenes from "The Bodies in the Book." Angela's POV. Rated M for adult content.**

"PCBs and lead we found in the collagen mean the victim's from the north end of the Chesapeake, probably outside Anapolis." Hodgins' voice is a soft caress in my ear.

I recognize the tone.

It's the same tone Hodgins uses when the evening has ended and there's no where to go except to bed. It's the same tone he uses in the mornings after he joins me in the shower under the pretext of saving water. And it's the very same tone he's used three times this week in the middle of the day and in the most unlikely of places. Like the ringing of the bell to Pavlov's dog, I've become quite conditioned to anticipating the good things that follow in the wake of that tone, and my body salivates in response.

However, on _this_ occasion, Hodgins' intimate purr takes me by surprise.

Not that the venue is all that unusual—Hodgins has whispered sweet nothings in my ear before as we worked alone in my office. It's the circumstances that are confounding me. It's as if he's oblivious to the fact that Brennan and Booth are standing directly behind us, listening. Not to mention the fact that we're right in the middle of identifying a murder victim who, wrapped in red tape and strung up on an anchor, was reduced to crab bait. Obviously, there is nothing too sordid or gross to kill Hodgins' romantic ardor. It's also a tribute to his skills at multi-tasking. He can analyze the chemical and mineral content of the victim's tissue, and at the same time think about the last time we had sex. Or perhaps he's thinking ahead to the _next_ time. Of course, that's why I'm so crazy about him. We are totally on the same page--most of the time. However, right now, I wasn't expecting a seduction.

I try to remain detached, and swallow the smile that's trying to form on my lips. I chide him in front of our audience, slightly embarrassed.

"Did you have to whisper that in my ear?" I reproach him, determined not to let him see the knee-jerk arousal I'm feeling right now.

But Hodgins is smug when it comes to his powers of sexual persuasion, and he's learned by trial and error how to push my buttons. He _knows_ how I will react when he uses that tone with me. He's not abashed or defeated by my feigned disinterest.

"Just seemed right," Hodgins' eyes twinkle wickedly when he answers.

Booth mimics Hodgins' behavior, his sarcasm letting us know that he thinks we're being unprofessional. I smile to myself. He has no idea just how unprofessional Hodgins and I can be. _No_ idea.

Sully comes in, diverting both Brennan and Booth. They begin to argue. Hodgins takes the opportunity to run his hand along my thigh, leaning in close to whisper a decidedly dirty suggestion in my ear. I grin, swatting his hand away. He's in rare form today; insatiable and shameless. I really love that about him.

Things are definitely heating up behind us, and the voices escalate. Booth and Sully are basically fighting over Brennan. I'm getting a perverse pleasure out of this.

"Testosterone spill on aisle four…" I quip.

Hodgins agrees with my assessment, and smirks. The hand returns to my thigh, and I am forced to remove it once more. Someone else's testosterone is certainly making a nuisance of itself.

Brennan, Booth, and Sully continue to work out the logistics of their professional ménage a trois. Hodgins and I look at each other and grin until we are interrupted by a chirp from the image recognition program. Our victim has been identified.

"Jim Lopata," I announce, once more becoming the center of attention. "Not the sicko—the sicko's victim," I clarify.

Brennan scrutinizes the image and the victim's personal stats. Sully begins again with his ever-so-charming concern for Brennan's safety, which is followed by a snide comment or two from Booth, and ends with Brennan snapping at both of them like a cornered badger. Eventually, the three of them take it out of my office, their voices fading off down the hallway.

Hodgins makes his move.

"You do know that _some_ of us have to work for a living, don't you?" I tell him as he begins kissing my neck, the tip of his beard a pleasant tickle on my skin.

I have to stop him now before I give in to his caresses. He's made a study of my erogenous zones the past few months, and knows how to raise my pulse rate in an obscenely short amount of time. His hand is back on my thigh, leaving nothing to chance.

"You know what I want to do right now?" Hodgins' voice is a soft rumble in my ear.

"Of course I know—it doesn't take a rocket-scientist to figure that out," I retort, stopping his hand from its meandering course beneath the hem of my skirt. I'm shooting furtive glances at the open glass door to my office, wondering how many people are going to wander by in the next few minutes and get an eyeful. We're already the talk of the lab as it is.

"Rocket science is _really_ overrated…" Hodgins replies. His hand changes course and moves instead up under the front of my blouse.

"Oh, _really_?" I challenge him, though failing even to convince myself. "If that's so, how… how come rocket scientists can send rockets into orbit, and into space, and over the moon?"

I'm babbling now. It's really pathetic.

"I'll send _you_ over the moon, _Baby_, just give me a few minutes of your time…" Hodgins counters. I find that he's enjoying my seduction _way_ too much. I find that _I'm_ enjoying it way too much.

Hodgins' fingers have breached the defense of my brassiere, and as skin touches skin, I quiver uncontrollably. I'd resist, but I find the nerve endings in my right tit are alerting all the pleasure receptors south of my belly button, and it just feels too good to make him stop right now.

I know with a certainty that _someone_ is going to walk in on us at any minute.

Of course, that someone would have to be Zach. Clearing his throat loudly, he announces his presence behind us.

Hodgins deftly removes his hand from my blouse and looks up, greeting Zach with a studied casualness. "Hey, what's up, Man? Did you know that we've got a positive ID on the victim?"

Zach knows that something was going on before he came in, he just can't determine what, and to what extent. He purses his lips petulantly before he answers. "Yes, yes I do. Doctor Brennan told me that you'd made the identification."

Zach is still staring at Hodgins, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He doesn't dare look at me because he knows I'd kick his ass all the way back to Michigan.

"Doctor Brennan wants you to do a complete analysis of _all_ the particulates found on the victim and his clothing," Zach continues, muscling in between us to get a look at Jim Lopata on the monitor. He forces Hodgins to abandon his seat next to me.

"She said _now_," Zach adds with the faintest trace of satisfaction in his voice.

Over Zach's shoulder, I cast Hodgins a sympathetic look. I hear him grumbling as he leaves my office. "Just because some guys can't get laid…"


	2. Chapter 2

Although the lead-lined apron isn't quite the fashion statement I wanted to make, I couldn't turn down the chance to watch rats getting their innards x-rayed. This was a first for me, and it seemed an entertaining way to spend an hour of my time. Hodgins wanted me there, anyway. When he's not loitering around in my office, I usually find a reason to loiter around with him. But really, it's not like we're shirking our respective jobs—we're just two colleagues exchanging ideas and broadening our knowledge. It's actually been a good thing. Hey, who would have identified the mold from the Terry Bancroft case if it wasn't for the hours I spent canoodling with Hodgins over his microscope after hours?

So now, my knowledge of rats is getting broadened. Pet store rats really are cute little creatures, what with their glossy coats, plump bodies, and inquisitively whiskered faces. I watch as Zach hoists one by the tail out of its container and dangles it over to Hodgins.

My boyfriend regards my girlish delight in the rats' cuddle-factor with a gentle sneer.

"Now, well, don't grow too attached. These little guys are destined to become snake snacks," Hodgins cautions me, taking the large rodent from Zach and proceeding to maneuver it into a tube for the x-ray

Considering that one of these rodents contains the bullet that killed Sadie Keller, I thought they'd be spared such an ignoble end. Hodgins sets me straight in no uncertain terms. "It's not like they know sign-language, Angela…"

I'm thinking about all the ways I'll get him back later for his patronizing sarcasm, when I'm unpleasantly diverted by Zach's enthusiastic description of how he used to kill lab rats in grad school. After I hear the words "warm dish of water" and "ball pen hammer" in the same sentence, I cut him off.

At that moment, the x-ray divulges the secrets of the rat's belly. It's our smoking gun--or at least the bullet from it.

Zach, however, is still taking a trip down memory lane. "…warm water soothes them like a bubble bath, then…"

I'm wondering then at what point in his early childhood development Zach became destined to be a forensic anthropologist instead of a serial killer.

Turning to Hodgins, whose morbid interests at least seem _slightly_ endearing to me because they're his, I change the subject.

"Can't we just wait until nature takes its course?" I ask him, _plead_ with him.

Hodgins gives me an incredulous look and responds as if he's speaking to an idiot. "Do you have any idea how tight a rat's rectum is?"

First of all, when your boyfriend uses the words "tight" and "rectum" in the same sentence, how do you respond to that?—I mean, without running in the opposite direction? The fact that he's describing a little furry animal's ass only makes it worse.

"Please, tell me you don't…" I begin. I can't tell if the look on his face expresses puzzlement, annoyance, guilt, or amusement. I'll assume it's the latter.

Doctor Saroyan chooses this opportune moment to pop her head in and inquire about the "ammo thief." Before she leaves, she informs us that the rats won't have any trouble expelling bullets, or digested rat food, for that matter—tight rectums notwithstanding.

We all look at each other, trying to process Cam's words.

"She fed _all_ of them laxatives?" Hodgins repeats, looking at me for verification.

I'm sure the look of revulsion on my face was all the proof he needed. "I need to go to my… office…" I lamely excuse myself, beating a hasty retreat out of the small lab.

I'm outside the room tearing off my lead apron and choking down my laughter. I can still see Zach through the window, staring blankly at the container of rats.

Hodgins stumbles out after me, laughing so hard he can't breathe. "Did you see the look on Zach's face?" he bursts out, doubling over and gasping for air. I help him remove his apron, and then hustle him out of the room.

"C'mon, let's get out of here before the proverbial shit hits the fan…" I manage between shrieks of laughter, taking Hodgins by the hand to hurry him along.

"Baby, _that_ shit's not going to be proverbial in _any_ sense of the word…" Hodgins replies, "…and I'm thinking Zach's going to be thumbing it home today…"

We take one look back and both burst out laughing harder than before.


	3. Chapter 3

Leaving Zach to the rats and the shit-storm that is sure to follow, we stagger down the hallway, still breaking into gales of laughter every few seconds. A couple of lab technicians pass us by and give us strange looks. I try to compose myself, but every time I look at Hodgins I lose it. We're under a stairwell, away from prying eyes at the moment. Hodgins pulls me into an embrace right there beneath the stairs and proceeds to smother my giggles with insistent kisses.

"Don't tell me that the thought of Zach covered in rat poop is responsible for getting you all turned on…" I laugh as the hard evidence rubs up against my thigh.

"Please, I'm not that twisted," Hodgins pauses to give me a severe look. Within seconds, he's wearing his bedroom eyes again as he admits, "It's that sexy laugh of yours…"

"Oh, I see," I bat my eyelashes at him demurely, "And what are we going to do about it?"

Although it was meant as a rhetorical question, Hodgins has seriously considered the answer and is already one step ahead of me.

Next thing I know he's leaning me back against the wall, only it's not the wall, and it's giving way behind us. As I stumble with him backwards into the dark, I realize that Hodgins has maneuvered me into the storage locker under the stairwell. The door shuts behind us with a loud _click_. It's pitch black.

I come to an abrupt stop when the backs of my thighs make contact with the assorted bins and containers stacked against the far wall.

"Ow! Careful, Hodgie!" I complain as I lose my footing and am forced to sit down heavily on a row of flimsy cardboard boxes. They give under my weight, and I suspect they are full of latex gloves or clean-room smocks. I shift, crushing them as Hodgins tries to maneuver between my thighs. "Can't we turn on a light, or something?" I suggest.

"We don't need a light—this is way hotter…" Hodgins whispers a few inches from my face. I reach out to determine his exact whereabouts, but he's on the move again. Next thing I know, my tights are being yanked down around my ankles.

"These better not be ripped when we leave here," I warn him, thinking about the $15.95 this last pair cost me. A tingle of excitement runs up my thighs in their absence.

"Give me a little credit, will you? It's not like I've never done this before," Hodgins responds peevishly. His hands are working on my panties now, and I lift up to be helpful.

"So, who else have you screwed in the closet at work?" I tease, lifting my legs, bound at the ankles with hosiery, over Hodgins' head. He snuggles in between my thighs and begins kissing them.

"No one," he says between kisses. "I was referring to my expertise at removing your clothing." Hodgins continues to trail kisses up my inner thighs, and I begin to feel all warm and melty inside.

As Hodgins' tongue is about to do what it does best, a more practical consideration occurs to me that overrides my baser instincts.

"What do you think you're doing?" I whisper frantically, grabbing him by the curls and forcing his head up. "You want to walk out of here with your beard all covered with--"

"Ouch! Hey, watch it! I get the idea, okay? You don't have to be so rough on the scalp…" Hodgins yelps.

I release his head and begin pulling him up by the shoulders to lie on top of me. With Hodgins' added weight, something else gives way somewhere below us and I hear the sickening crack of breaking glass. Hodgins is unfazed.

He's immediately forgiven my rough treatment of his mop because his lips are now moving over my face with sensual abandon. My tongue enters his mouth and he sucks on it gently. One of his hands has worked its way up under my dress and is playing with my left breast. I wrap my arms around him tightly as the thrill of our closet tryst begins to heighten my arousal. I squirm beneath him until his pelvis settles into my crotch, and then I'm sliding my palms into the back pockets of his Levis, feeling the firm contours of his ass flex beneath my fingers. You can bounce a dime off an ass like that...

Between my legs, Hodgins' confined boner is radiating enough heat to melt rock. I work my hands between us to wrestle with the straining denim.

"Here, let me…" Hodgins grunts, lifting up just enough to deftly pop the buttons of his fly with one hand. I help tug his pants and boxers down far enough to free his erection. I take this moment to enjoy the feel of it in my hand; it's amazingly stiff and warm and throbbing to the touch. "Whew, careful there…" he warns as I caress his shaft, smoothing a pearl of precum over its satiny head. Another practical thought comes to mind.

"Do you have a condom?" I ask sweetly.

A moment of silence.

"A _condom_? Why would I have a condom? We haven't used a condom for over three months now…" Hodgins sounds incredulous, and I can't really blame him.

One of the highpoints of being in a long-term, monogamous relationship was the day, about two months into the relationship when we had sex _au naturale_ for the first time—and when I say first time, I mean _first time_, ever, for either of us. Hodgins came in about sixty seconds flat, setting a new land speed record for sex. Since then, he's adjusted to the feeling of freedom, and never fails to go the extra mile for me.

So, when I bring up condoms now, Hodgins is confused.

"You know, we have to go back to work after this. _I_ _have to go back to work_. A condom would mean… well… no fuss, no mess…" I try to explain delicately.

"Well, I-don't-have-a-condom," Hodgins spells it out for me, and he sounds more than a little ticked. His hard-on hovers between us, waiting for the verdict.

Right now, I'm as horny as hell, but cursed with a concern for practicalities.

Suddenly, I have a brainstorm. Reaching behind me I rummage around in the litter of mangled boxes. Forcing my hand into one, I bring out a fistful of latex gloves. I've hit the jackpot. I find Hodgins' hand in the dark and shove one into it.

"What's this?" he asks. He feels it up for a moment and then makes an odd noise in his throat. "Are you suggesting I _wear_ this?" Hodgins asks incredulously.

I think it through for a moment. No, that wouldn't work… the fingers would be way too small. But maybe…

"Could you just use it at the end, as a… receptacle?" I suggest.

The closet goes ominously silent.

"You want me to ejaculate into a glove?" Hodgins finally blurts out.

"Yes…" I affirm, slowly, afraid that I've gone a little too far this time in the interest of hygiene.

"Okay… I can do that," Hodgins acquiesces suddenly. I suppose he thinks it's the difference between nookie or no-nookie at this point, and his libido wins out over his sense of dignity.

With that issue resolved, Hodgins stuffs the glove into the breast pocket of his shirt for later access, and immediately begins his attack.

I lay back—as best I can—and enjoy the sensation of Hodgins' mouth kissing and sucking on my neck. I breathe out in delicious anticipation. More crackling underneath us ensues as Hodgins shifts above me, apparently in order to engage in a little manual foreplay. God, I love this man's hands…

"Oooh, Baby… right there… oh yeah… mmmmm…" I hear myself moaning as Hodgins deftly fingers my trigger. I have a brief moment of panic as the thought occurs to me that I can get pretty noisy during sex.

I open my mouth to voice my concerns to Hodgins, when I suddenly decide against it. After asking him to use a latex glove in lieu of a condom, he might just stuff a handful in my mouth to smother my sex noises. So I decide to keep this concern to myself, and do my best to mute my vocalizations against his shoulder.

I don't know if it's the illicit excitement of doing it in the storage locker at work, or the fact that my ankles are trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and I'm getting a kind of bondage-like thrill out it, but I am hot-to-trot within minutes.

Hodgins confirms my condition by whispering low and sexy in my ear, "Baby, you are soooo wet…"

I'm figuring it's time to stop fooling around and get humpin' already, so I reach around and grab that bare ass of his and jockey him into position.

Hodgins, ever eager to please, cooperates fully and maneuvers for maximum access, reaching out to brace himself as best he can with arms on either side of me. This causes more small boxes to teeter from the stack above us, and a couple of them fall on our heads with a soft _plop_. I barely notice because I'm focused on getting Hodgins' dick inside of me without further delay.

"Fuck!" I hiss with pleasure at the sensation of his rigid thickness sliding into me a few inches, and then pulling back to push in again, deeper this time. Hodgins gyrates his hips against me, and then pushes firmly until he's buried up to the hilt. Staying deep, he begins thrusting slowly, rocking me back and forth with him and causing our makeshift bed to shake precariously beneath us. It feels so good that my pelvis begins to buck out of control against his, hurrying me towards the big "O."

"Hold on, Baby," Hodgins soothes in my ear, "Slow it down…"

That would be nice—if it were possible. Unfortunately, I'm a teapot that's reached its boiling point and I'm beginning to whistle—loudly. Hodgins has no choice but to participate as fully as he can and make me explode in orgasmic ecstasy. He shifts into overdrive, giving me what I need.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…" I keen my favorite profanity with my mouth pressed against his shoulder; only it sounds more like, "Awfa, awfa, awfa," as wave after wave of pure toe-curling bliss hits me.

"HOLY FUCK!" Hodgins hollers in my ear as he takes me completely over the edge into nirvana. I wonder if he's coming too, although I've never heard him express it this intensely before. I also wonder briefly if he's going to remember to use the glove.

Suddenly, he's jerking away from me. At the same time I realize that I have the taste of blood in my mouth, only I'm pretty sure that it's not my own. It dawns on me that I must have stifled my enthusiasm with a little too much rigor…

Hodgins sinks back down on me, laughing and cursing at the same time. "Damn it, Ange, you fucking _bit_ me…"

"I'm sorry," I apologize, mortified. "It just… it just felt so good…"

"Biting me felt good? What are you, the Bride of Dracula?" I can imagine him wincing as I hear him inhale sharply somewhere in the dark above me, probably checking to see how deep my incisors cut into his flesh.

"No," I protest, even though I know he's teasing me. "_You_ felt so good—inside of me."

"Well then I'll have to remember not to be so good next time…" Hodgins replies ruefully.

"Oh, Sweetie, I'm so sorry," I apologize even more profusely. Fearing he's lost some of his former enthusiasm for the task, I clamp my thighs around his waist, preventing his escape. "Here, let me make it all better," I coo, encouraging him to begin thrusting once more.

I tighten my vaginal muscles to further stimulate Hodgins' newly revived cock, all the while cheerleading his progress with some extremely filthy proclamations about his manhood, and what I want to do with it, that I won't repeat here. Works every time…

All is apparently forgiven and forgotten as Hodgins is now thrusting away with wild abandon and starting to gasp my name. The end is in sight for him, and I am grateful. I think I'm going to have _Broner Glove & Safety Co_. permanently embossed on my lower backside.

Suddenly, Hodgins stiffens in my arms, his hips twitching and quivering against my own. He then makes that adorable little sound that I love—a little wheezing groan that ends with a happy sigh.

I don't have the heart to remind him about the glove.


End file.
